


Homecoming

by AnnaofAza



Series: Hartwin Week [6]
Category: Kingsman: The Secret Service (2015)
Genre: (sort of), Domestic, Harry Hart Lives, M/M, Real or not real?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-21
Updated: 2015-08-21
Packaged: 2018-04-16 10:16:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,398
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4621536
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AnnaofAza/pseuds/AnnaofAza
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Merlin agrees that this whole routine helps, doesn't think he needs to send me to therapy." Eggsy continues, with a shrug.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Homecoming

When Harry walks into his kitchen, placing his new umbrella near the door, Eggsy isn't surprised to see him. 

"'Ello, Harry," he says, almost cheerily. "Right on time, I just got the kettle on."   
  
Harry watches, startled, as Eggsy seamlessly pours the tea into a cracked mug. He's in Harry's red robe, drawn close around his body, but has on—Harry assumes—Eggsy's own yellow slippers. His hair's cropped shorter, glasses pushed up over the top of his head. Sharp angles have replaced the softer curves of his face, and his limbs are much more muscular, his hands almost as calloused as Harry's own.

"Eggsy..." Harry begins to say, but Eggsy interrupts with a short smile. 

"Ah, you took your glasses off? You look strange without them, you know." Harry opens his mouth, astonished, but Eggsy interrupts, "But first, let me put the stuff away first, aight? Then we can continue this chat." Eggsy moves the kettle back on the slowly-cooling stove, then packs the box of tea leaves into a cabinet above his head. The drawer rattles as Eggsy retrieves a long, silver spoon.   
  
"So, Rox and I went on another mission today," Eggsy casually says, stirring his tea at the counter. "It was just to be a little recon about a factory that still has Valentine's SIM cards in storage, but we took care of it real quick. Roxy was badass—electrical takeout with her ring—and I got shocked a bit. Not too bad, but it stung like hell." He blows a little of the shimmering gray surface. "Merlin still had the med ward check me, but I'm good. Well, not good—" he corrects. "But this whole thing helps, you know?" Eggsy waves his hand towards Harry, who still hasn't moved.   
  
"And Merlin—you know how he's the new Arthur; he misses his old job—finally got off my back." Eggsy takes a cautious sip, and nods to himself, moving to sit at the table. The white tablecloth has been put away, but the atrocious silver bird Merlin gave him as a joke gift for Christmas is still there.

Harry remembers slipping out of bed early in the morning, placing the rolls he’d prepared the night before into the oven and starting on the scrambled eggs. Minutes later, Eggsy had come down still in the shirt he’d worn the night before, rubbing his eyes. He’d then stopped, his foot right over the threshold, and gaped at the silver service and glasses and the chandelier hanging above the table.  _Do all posh folks do breakfast this fancy?_ he’d asked.  

"He agrees that this whole routine helps, doesn't think he needs to send me to therapy." Eggsy continues, with a shrug. "But Rox is pushing for it. You know how she is."   
  
"Eggsy...I don't understand." Harry takes another step, shoes clicking against the tiles. It’s the second time he’s been here with Eggsy, who’d suppressed a small smile at his apron and taken one of the perfectly-golden rolls offered with an astonished look.  _I don’t just order in,_ Harry had dryly said.  
  
Eggsy only laughs in reply. "Me neither, Harry. But she's a right mate. She always drops by during the weekends for marathons and tries to take me to posh places. We saw  _My Fair Lady_ with Percival and Merlin the other day." He smiles conspiratorially. "Remember when you were teaching me to be a gentleman? That really reminded me of that, you regular Henry Higgins." Pouring to the fridge, Eggsy continues, "I sometimes make myself a martini, but without vermouth. Sorry, but I hate the taste. I know you'd disapprove."   
  
"Eggsy..." Harry reaches out to touch him, but Eggsy doesn't notice, moving away before fingertips skimmed the shoulder of his robe. "Eggsy, no."   
  
"You would." Eggsy sighs, gulping down the last of the tea. "I miss you, Harry. I knew how tie a tie, but I still remember how you showed me after the martinis. I made a right mess of it, but you fixed it, and adjusted my collar when you were done. Even though you only did it once, I could imagine you..." The young man suddenly shakes his head, standing up and plodding towards the sink. "Never mind that. It’s stupid."   
  
He's quiet for a long time, washing the cup and putting it away. The grandfather clock in the front room continues to tick. Evening shadows are stretching thicker across the counters, but Eggsy doesn't turn the light on. Harry still can’t bring himself to move.  

Finally, Eggsy sighs, heading downstairs; Harry follows him numbly. "I always hated the ending. Eliza and Henry can't just walk away without telling each they're sorry. Like Darcy and Elizabeth." He laughs, a bit forcefully, when entering the guest bedroom, without a glance to the closed door of Harry's.  _Yours for the night,_ Harry had said.  _I’ll be right down the hall if you need something._  
  
JB is curled up on the unmade bed, clothes are scattered everywhere, a Kingsman suit has been thrown over a chair, and the window is open. The walls that were once blank now have pictures—Michelle and Daisy Unwin sitting on a park bench with Eggsy in his Kingsman suit, Roxy and Eggsy making faces in a photo booth, Merlin scowling and holding up a tablet in front of his face, JB in the process of running away, and Eggsy grinning widely, seated with a cake in front of him. Harry notes that Roxy, Merlin, and Daisy are squeezed in behind him; Michelle must have taken the picture.   
  
Eggsy goes to the bathroom and brushes his teeth, shrugging off the robe. He drapes it over a towel rack, revealing a simple shirt and boxers. Harry notices fresh bruises, tanner skin, and old scars. Where did he get all of those? He wishes he knew, wishes he’d been at Eggsy’s side for all of them.   
  
"I used to watch the series with me mum and sister when Dean was away. We'd sit in the couch that smelled like spilled beer and watch the two bicker and argue and move past their shit." Harry watches as Eggsy finally takes off his glasses, folding them and placing them down on the nightstand. "I just wish...we got past ours. It could have been like this." He waves his hand around the room, at the photos of smiling family and friends on the wall.   
  
"Eggsy...I'm here," Harry says, a little more firmly, but his hands tremble.   
  
The other man turns away, clenching his fists.   
  
"I thought you've stopped that now," he suddenly snaps. "It's been years, I've moved on, and I know—I know you're dead."   
  
Harry lets out a gasp.   
  
Merlin had warned him not to visit Eggsy. He told him that his protégé is fragile, but less danger-seeking and more collected. Eggsy does better on paired missions than alone. It's been a year-and-a-half since Eggsy stopped having night terrors. He's providing for his family, but still lives in Harry's empty house and not in the flat he bought for them.   
  
He should have known. How long had Eggsy been hallucinating him as a coping mechanism? Often enough that Eggsy seemed like he accepted his madness, even enjoyed it.

He does; Harry saw that. The way Eggsy's face had brightened when Harry first entered the room, how natural his one-sided conversation flowed, how he was able to say things so freely...

Harry catches the sight of his stricken face in the window. He doesn't miss how old he looks—silver-streaked hair, lumbering gait, the scar on his temple...  
  
"Eggsy," he firmly repeated. "Look at me. Really look at me."   
  
"What is this now?" Eggsy, with a clearly annoyed huff, turns. "You never—"   
  
He freezes.   
  
"Harry?" Eggsy whispers, stepping forward, voice as fragile as an antique teacup. He reaches out and touches Harry's arm with the very tips of his fingers, as if he's afraid his form will wisp into thin air. Harry lets Eggsy tentatively press harder, eyes widening in shock and pain and happiness. "Harry, how...?" 

Eggsy throws his arms around Harry, burying his face in his chest. His shoulders shake, and when he finally loosens his grip, Eggsy’s eyes are wide and looking up at him, astonished.  
  
Harry then cradles Eggsy's face in one palm. The wetness clings to his skin. "I always wanted to come back to you."


End file.
